


A Perfect Moment

by Inane_Rational



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Reincarnation, Slash, kid!Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inane_Rational/pseuds/Inane_Rational
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In one’s life, there is always one perfect moment. In this story, there's five.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perfect Moment

**1\. Sex**

It’s probably the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. They’re naked on top of the covers, Merlin on top of him, riding his cock with agonising slowness. Arthur could only lay there and watch his manservant lift up, feel the chamber’s cool draft on his cock, before Merlin controls the downward weight, engulfing him once again in heat.

The moon’s light is a cool blue on Merlin’s skin, reflected on his midnight hair. It’s almost god-like. Yet, he can clearly see how human Merlin is. The evidence of their excursion, makes their skin slick with more than the come of their previous love-making.

This is truly a wonder. It wasn’t very often they got to do this: the slow grind of their bodies, as though they had all the time in the world.

The festivities will keep people from an early morning rise. They have this night, so they’ll make everything worth while, to remind him that Merlin is his. He’s enraptured as Merlin looks down at him through the slit of his eyes, a delighted curl to his smile. It’s perfect.

Arthur likes to think that he’s the only one allowed to see this beauty.

  
 **2\. Death**

Artur is weary. He felt the age in his bones, and deep in his soul. He’s only seventeen. He’s being tried as a heretic. He’s guilty for wrongful lust. He’s guilty for kissing a boy. They took him from bed at night, and pressed him to confess his sin. He wouldn’t, and they pressed harder--broke through skin, flesh, and even bone. Artur is so very weary.

He is alone.

Then in the midst of the torture, the day before his death, they bring him Merton. They are placed in the same cell. When Merton touches his skin, Artur could feel the aches fade. Merton’s eyes had glowed a deep rich gold.

“You’re a witch,” Artur gapes in awe. He didn’t think they were real. He didn’t think they could be this gentle, compared to the stories he’s been told.

They don’t talk in their final hours, opting for silence in each other’s company.

“Why don’t you escape?” Artur asks.

Merton shrugs with a pained wince, and speaks with a parched throat. “Things won’t get better.”

Artur saddens at Merton’s words, yet he feels a high relief that he wouldn’t die alone. His life had been hard and joyless, growing up with his sin. Artur believes he’s allowed to have this simple moments of silence with a witch--a boy he just met, that could simmer his pain away with a simple touch.

When they come to hang them, he wouldn’t die alone.

  
 **3\. Life**

Artair stands on the tip of his toes to see into the nursery room, past the window’s frames. There are rows of plastic containers, some empty and some holding a small baby inside. The containers look cribs, but they didn’t look like cribs, not the one at home anyway. Artair tries jumping. He huffs at his inability to clearly see.

He looks around, spotting the rows of chairs by the wall. Artair runs to it, the idea forming in his head. Yet, the increasing sound of wheels and footsteps halts his progress. He quickly dives beneath a chair, watching a nurse, bring a woman on a stretcher right by the window. Artair watches them exchange a few words, before the nurse walks away. Once the coast was deemed clear, Artair drives into action, grabbing a chair with his chubby hands and dragging it to the window.

The woman in the stretcher was surprise by Artair’s presence, but smiles kindly, as the boy stands on the seat of the chair scanning the nursery.

“Who are you looking for?”

Artair looks at the woman. She seems tired, but has a impression of joy on her face. “My baby brother,” he glees.

“I’m here to see my son.”

“Really,” Artair asks excitingly, “that means they’ll have the same birthday!”

“That’s right,” the woman laughs at the boy’s excitement.

“Which one is he.” Artair presses his face to the glass, as though he could see more within the room. It’s that moment when a nurse walks into the nursery, holding a squalling baby boy in her arms. The nurse walks up to the glass, right in front of the woman on the stretcher.

“That’s him right there.” She only has eyes for her son.

“What’s his name?” Artair asks, looking at the child with a reverent astonishment. If the mother found it odd, she didn’t think deeply upon it.

“Don’t know yet.”

“You don’t know!”

The mother laughs at Artair’s bewilderment, the nurse is laughing along with her. “You know it’s very hard, choosing a name.”

“It can’t be that hard.” Artair says matter-of-factly.

The mother only laughs more, amused by Artair’s tenacity. “What would you suggest for a name?”

Artair pauses. He looks at the baby once more, a fog trickling through his head. “Mar-lin.” It didn’t sound completely right, but the woman’s smiling, and Artair guessed that it’s okay.

“Marlin,” the mother says softly, looking at the baby once more. She turns back to Artair with a soft smile. “That’s actually quite a nice name.”

“Of course it is.”

“Artair!” He turns around to see his father striding towards him. He’s going to be taken back to his mother’s room, where he’ll have to wait again.

Artair quickly turns to the mother. “What’s your name?”

“Helen,” she says, dazed by the boy’s change in attitude.

“I got to name him, so you have to promise that I can come over and play.” He jumps off the chair, and runs to his dad, who’s reprimanding him for disappearing.

Later, in a hospital room, Artair looks down at the baby in his mother’s arms.

“It’s girl. You have a sister,” his mom says sweetly.

Artair takes another moment to look down at the baby again. “Are you sure? What happen to my brother?”

His parents gently laugh, used to Artair’s behaviour.

Looking at his sister, he shrugs. He could manage it. “At least, I still have Marlin.” He ignores his parent’s look of confusion, reaching out a finger towards his sister’s hand .

He still has Marlin. There is never a more sure thing Artair knew in his entire life.

  
 **4\. Memories**

They came through the door to a rambunctious cheer by their family and friends, and a ‘Welcome Home’ banner hanging on the opposite wall. Arte turns to watch Marlon whisper to their new two month old son, “this is your new family,” and he can’t help but smile.

There’s a barbeque going in the backyard, and everyone wants to see the baby, after congratulating Arte and Marlon on a successful adoption. They had waited for _years_.

Arte watches from the patio chair, as all the women flock to the child in Marlon’s arms. They all want to hold his son. He smiles, raising the beer can to his lips. His son. When the women are done with their fawning, Arte makes his way to his husband, kissing him on the lips. He looks down at this son.

“Was he starting to get fussy?” Arte trails a finger on the cheek. The baby makes a little noise, a hand uncoordinatedly reaching to catch his.

“Everyone wants to hold him.” Marlon says, smiling at him. Arte smiles back, feeling a different sort of wholeness. Something more, than when he married this man. It’s a whole new set of completion.

There’s a electronic click. The new parents turn, to see Arte’s father holding a camera, along with Marlon’s mom.

“What a beautiful picture,” his mother-in-law gasps, leaning to see the picture his father had snapped.

Arte reaches for the camera, his father handing it over with a proud smile. He fiddles with the buttons to bring the most recent picture on the screen. Him and Marlon are looking at each other, baby Evan right there in the fold. He would need to get the photo printed and framed.

He’ll forever have that moment to show, and look upon.

  
 **5\. Resurrection**

Arturo watches Merlin’s resurrection inside the observation room. The creation of the body was simple, in comparison to the feat of getting the body to breathe, and live. He watches the form get strapped to the table, as the doctors prepare their instruments.

The moment of resuscitation is difficult to watch. The limbs and torso jerks up, like an electric shock. They’re held down by straps, and the subject begins to flail. They panic, and they want to scream, but they need to learn how to use their body first. It’s this point that Arthur barges in. Arturo had watched his resuscitation too.

It confuses him sometimes, because he’s aware. Arturo is Arthur, as his Merle is Merlin. He questions whether he needs to be here in this time, if Arthur is here, brought by the will of science and curiosity. Arturo also wonders, if he’d feel for Merlin, as he feels for Merle?

Arturo has never been face to face with Arthur, and he’d like to keep it that way. He doubt it would have any affect on either. At least, that’s what he hopes.

The researcher’s around him whisper. It still surprises him, to see Arthur go to Merlin, calm him, whispering him that everything’s okay. The thousands of text said nothing about this.

Arturo pulls open his writing pad, turning on his pen. Both the pad and the tip of the pen glow as they power up. The troubling thought comes to mind about him and Merle. If he believed in destiny, was their relationship some pre-destined notion? He laughs to himself in his head.

Merlin is un-strap from the table. He’s looking at Arthur longingly, touching to see if he’s real. Arthur smiles, and Merlin quirks an unsure smile back. Arturo writes down these observations: the affection that’s far from platonic. Arthur gathers Merlin towards him, and Arturo doesn’t miss the slight jerk in Merlin’s eyes, before the newly born man looks his way. It’s not kept for long. Almost made to look as though his eyes are sweeping past, but Arturo felt it. He walks out the observation room, leaving those two in peace with one another.

He hands his observation to his supervisor, and discusses the notes:

Yes, Merlin looked older. Must have died later on.

Affection are beyond the level of a platonic friendship.

Are you suggesting they’re…

Lovers? Possibly. Likely.

That last one. He may have been garnering that from his own life. His own memories of now and before.

He checks out. Goes home far in the outer city limits. The front door slides open, and closes automatically behind him. The sounds of the door’s air mechanism catches Merle’s attention. His lover peeks his head around the corner.

“Hey,” he calls out, walking to him for a kiss.

His mouth is plaint and warm, and he’d gladly stay like that, but his hand brushes against Merle’s. He pulls away, feeling the cold aid-cloth, instead of warm skin. Arturo pulls it away to see the redden flesh.

“What happen?”

“I had an accident,” Merle sheepishly said.

“Surprise, surprise,” Arturo says sarcastically, as he checks his husband’s arm.

“I was holding pot of boiling water, and then I felt this jerk go through my body.” Arturo tries to look uninterested. “Well, I dropped the pot, it hit the edge, and the water splashed onto me.”

“This is boiling water.” He lifts up the arm closer, kissing the skin.

“It cooled for a bit beforehand.” Merle pulls away, laughing at him. “It wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been.” Merle walks back into their kitchen.

Arturo follows after him, trying to keep his smile up. “When did this happen?”

“When?”

“What time?”

Merle gives him an odd look. “Some time between boiling the water, and successfully not burning our dinner.”

It’s not the answer he wanted. He needs to know. The memories began to come back when he was assigned to the resurrection project. Merle, on the other hand, had no contact with it. Yet, if the magic was real, and he knew from the memories that it’s real, then he needs to factor how magic could affect Merle. Arturo sighs, kissing the redden skin again. He’ll put it off for later. “Well then, we should eat, in celebration of you not burning our dinner.”

“Ah, prat,” Merle says cheekily.

“What’s that?”

“An insult. From the old, old, days.”

“Yeah,” he says, sounding unimpressed. “What else did you learn?”

Merle thinks for a few seconds, before springing a wicked smile. “Shag.”

He scoffs. “That sounds even more odd.”

The smile becomes even more deliciously lewd. “Oh, I think you’ll like that one.” Arturo becomes half-hard. He knows that smile.

“We can heat up dinner later, if you want,” Merle ask , trying to go for innocent, and failing miserably.

He begins to stalk forward as Merle saunters around the counter and travels up the stairs. “If you want.” He’s not so good at playing innocent either.

It wasn’t until later, after dinner, and laying lazily on the couch together, that Arturo realizes that he doesn’t care if they are some pre-destined notion. He cards his fingers through Merle’s hair, the latter practically purring from the attention.

He doesn’t care, because he’d want to find Merle (and whatever name they went by) time and time again. He doesn’t have any doubts in the world, what he wants.


End file.
